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pin-k-ink · 7 months ago

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ephemera // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, implied age gap, dub-con, pet names, alcohol consumption, body worship, fingering, dirty talk, mutual pining

wc ⇢ 4.6k

a/n: i still have no idea how to describe what being intoxicated feels like

Gojo stared intently at the calendar, jaw tensing as he circled the quickly approaching date with a vibrant red pen. It was marked simply with your initials, but he knew the significance behind those two unassuming letters all too well.

Your birthday. Specifically, the one that would officially bring your transition into adulthood.

A strange feeling twisted in his gut, part anticipation and part...something darker, more fraught. For years now, he had forced himself to bury the undercurrents of forbidden attraction simmering between himself and his brilliant, beautiful student. With the power differential between you, it would have been unforgivably unethical to act on those urges, no matter how they ran molten beneath his skin when your eyes met across the training dojo.

But now, with your impending status as a legal adult, all of those previously steadfast barriers were suddenly rendered moot. You would be a woman grown in the eyes of society - fully autonomous to make your own choices about relationships and intimacies.

And Gojo would finally be free to pursue the longing that he'd ruthlessly shoved down year after year, fight after defiant fight of your ceaseless vibrant energy and fierce determination fueling his darkest fantasies.

He imagined you garbed in the finest evening dress money could buy, back baring and skirt slit high over shapely thighs as you gazed up at him with invitation in those captivating eyes. You'd be poised, every inch the elegant woman he'd watched you grow into over their time together. Except for the promise of sin smoldering in your heavy-lidded stare, all focused solely on him.

A low growl vibrated up from Gojo's sternum as he envisioned pressing you back into crisp hotel sheets, satin and lace pooling around your ankles as you arched shamelessly up into his questing hands and scorching mouth. He could almost taste the hot whiskey burst of your cum on his tongue as he spilled your name like a prayer between body-wracking tremors.

With a forcible shake of his head, Gojo dispelled the graphic fantasy. It did him no good to get carried away...at least not yet. First, there was the little matter of arranging a proper celebration for your coming of age. He had a solid six weeks to plan something suitably memorable and utterly unsuitable all at once.

The grin that split his features could only be described as wicked as the beginnings of a daring scheme crystallized in his devious mind. Oh yes, your first foray into adulthood under his tutelage was bound to be one for the books.

Little did you know just how intently Gojo had been preparing for the evening of your birthday. One month out, he'd finagled reservations at the trendiest new upscale restaurant in the city's downtown district. Only the week before, an utterly decadent hunter-green dress had been carefully wrapped and stowed away to be your celebratory gift.

From the very first moment you slipped the sumptuous material over your head, he knew it would be impossible to resist you. The plunging neckline balanced perfectly on the precipice of modest, skimming the lush upper curves of your breasts while flaring out in soft gathers over the swell of your hips. It was classically elegant, accentuating every lush, feminine angle in the most tantalizing way.

Until you turned with that bashful, pleased smile so completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Then the thin racer-back exposed the flex of shapely muscles and downy-soft skin that fueled so many of Gojo's most arduous meditations in the dojo showers. His jaw clenched hard enough to grind enamel as he simply drank in the sight before offering a low, approving hum.

"Stunning," was all he trusted himself to murmur, afraid anything more would betray the molten lust already licking at his composure like an insistent flame. "Shall we get going, birthday girl?"

The ride to the city center flew by in a blur of heated silence, the two of you existing in a strange kind of limbo as the barriers between student and teacher began their ponderous dissolution. Gojo struggled to keep his burning stare from wandering into forbidden territory, but it was a losing battle with you seated beside him, lean legs casually crossed and the musky cloud of your perfume swirling enticingly.

That dizzying, feminine scent and the hypnotic sway of your throat as you swallowed was his undoing. Before the errant thought could take root, Gojo found himself leaning infinitesimally closer, scrutinizing the delicate juncture where your jaw curved deliciously...imagining mouthing open kisses along the thundering line of your pulse and--

He cut the fantasy off with a hard shake, tamping down the visceral need with decades of practiced control. One tremulous breath, then another, and he was able to look anywhere but directly at you for fear of being drawn back into wanton temptation.

Thankfully, your arrival at the restaurant staved off any further lascivious ruminations. As you glided through the elegant double doors in your emerald splendor, the bulk of Gojo's focus narrowed to polished professionalism once more. He was the picture of urbane charm as a tuxedoed maitre d' ushered the two of you to a secluded table near the back.

It was clear the maître had been alerted to expect them, judging by the subtle glances he kept shooting Gojo and the ultra-exclusive corner booth he led you to. But you were predictably oblivious to the weight of deference as you admired the intimate nook done up in rich crimson and onyx finishings.

"This place is incredible! What a view," you exclaimed, breath catching as you leaned over to gaze out the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows towards the twinkling city skyline. Gojo clenched his fists under the table as the motion stretched the bodice of your dress taut across your chest, the shadow of cleavage darkening enticingly.

Sweet torture, every minute aspect was calculated to eat away at the gossamer threads of his restraint. He'd chosen this place specifically for the plush seclusion and unapologetic indulgence the setting evoked. The wine you both sipped from chilled crystal stemmed from rare vineyards, the food artfully composed from organic locally-sourced fare.

He wanted you to experience the finest that decadence had to offer. To let the slow-building seduction of flavors and textures relax your carefully maintained guard so his appreciative scrutiny might go undisguised. But most of all...he yearned to watch the first exquisite foray into unabashed surrender drift across your beautiful features.

By the end of your shared five-course indulgence, the flush dusting your cheeks and the inviting sprawl of your posture indicated Gojo's private mission was well on its way to success. You toyed idly with a fresh bloom of arousal as he signaled for the check, absorbing the casual confidence you exuded now that your inhibitions had begun to erode.

The warm heaviness of your stare was nothing new to his extensively-trained sangfroid. But with the knowledge that you'd officially achieved the age of majority? Your heated looks took on an entirely different tenor - one of open invitation and smoldering promissory notes about the night yet to come.

Unfortunately, you were still very much in public. Which meant Gojo would not give into the piquant cravings sparked by your every bashful glance and tongue-swept lip. Not yet, anyway.

That, however, did not preclude him from discreetly stoking those taunting embers once the stylized leather folio containing their exorbitant bill had been whisked away. The musky timbre of his voice was pure sin when he leaned close to brush his mouth along the delicious fan of your lashes.

"You've been such a good girl for me tonight," he husked, reveling in the delicate shudder that betrayed your body's rapt response despite your prim lack of reaction. "I think it's high time you got to enjoy the...full pleasures of being an adult, don't you?"

The dark, visceral promise woven through those purring words was almost enough to shatter your ingrained sense of decorum. As it was, Gojo had to suppress a devilish grin at the lilting catch in your breathing - a crystal clear indicator that his seduction was rapidly bearing fruit.

And so the hunt continued, him guiding you from the posh award-winning restaurant towards the pulsating nightlife district with a carefully choreographed set of lingering brushes and searing glances. Your bemused acceptance of his chivalrous arm swiftly morphed into dazed gratitude for the stabilizing pressure of his palm at the small of your back. It was only a matter a time before the crescendo of temptation reached its peak.

The moment that broke Gojo's steely control finally came several drinks past when-you-should-have-stopped at one of the city's most notorious bachelorette haunts. The hollers and joyous whoops of just-this-side-of-wasted revelers created the perfect storm of chaos and low lighting, sensual bodies gyrating as far as the jealously hooded eye could see.

It was exactly the sort of strobing, no-holds-barred den of sin designed to buckle the sternest of moral foundations at the knees. And from the second he ushered you into the heart of it, every baser instinct flared up like a bonfire whipped by high winds.

Between the sleek, gender-inclusive poles erected around the main dance floor, a panoramic spectacle of undulating hips and taut torsos welcomed voyeuristic eyes. Plumes of crystalline perspiration dappled glistening expanses of skin while enthusiastic strangers hooted their lurid approval.

Gojo's jaw clenched until his temples throbbed as he absorbed the intoxicating atmosphere. He could feel the evening's steady buildup of pheromones and liquor blossoming headier and richer with each passing second as you gravitated towards the seductive pulse of music.

It was only the barest reflexes of experience that had him seizing your hand before you went stalking off into the fray alone, turning to pin him with blown eyes and a rapturous grin bleeding sin. Even inebriated, there was no mistaking that look - the confident, carnal promise that would replicate itself on thousands of willing bodies before the night was done.

You were made for sensual surrender. And Gojo felt his control slip another few tenuous notches, picturing you wreathed in honeyed light, raven tresses tossed free as you worshipped the holiest of rituals that simmered in the darkness all around them.

Gruffly, he pulled you close enough to inhale the smokey remnants of whiskey and woman's lust from between your parted lips. "Where do you think you're going, pretty girl?" he growled, fingers clenching almost painfully around the generous swell of your hip.

Your answering laugh was liquid sin, bitter and emboldened by the rich burn of alcohol unfurling through your system. "Don't tell me you've gone all...responsible on me, sensei," you taunted, eyes glittering with honeyed challenge. "You didn't strike me as the type to pass up a little adult fun."

He hissed out a rough breath at your brazen defiance, torn between lashing you to his side or stalking away before he succumbed. Cruel implication laced your every syllable, a seductress unknowingly wielding weapons that could topple the strongest warrior.

"I'm not saying no," he finally rasped, letting the reassurance sink in before his hands meandered over the lush curves of your back, thumbs digging in deeply enough to short circuit coherent thought. "In fact, I want you to go have...all the fun an adult celebration like this has to offer. Just..." He paused to claim your mouth in a predatory glide, igniting a bonfire from the rawest flint of contact. "Don't make me regret giving you that permission, baby girl."

You shuddered violently at the naked demand threaded through his tone, flesh stippling with raw longing as you instinctively swayed into his scorching proximity. And it was all the encouragement Gojo needed to breathe a final molten warning against your gasping lips.

"Show me just how wild you can be. Do everything you want to do, take whoever and whatever you desire. But at the end of the night?" His fingers curled in the thick mass of your hair, tugging just shy of painful as azure fire bored into yours. "You'll be coming home with me, pretty girl. So save a little energy, hmm? I have plans for you..."

With that provocative parting shot hanging betwixt you, Gojo forcibly released you from his bruising clutches and watched with eyes of banked hunger as you spun away into the seething crowd. The spectacles of debauchery playing out all around did little to dissipate the feverish anticipation streaking through his blood. Indeed, it only made his vigil seem that much hotter, filthier.

Because who better than the teacher to appreciate each wanton display to its fullest, he mused, dragging a burning stare over the mouthwateringly sinuous path you carved into the throngs of gyrating bodies. Every lascivious roll and flirtatious glance from you only poured more kerosene onto the infernal blaze of need within him.

At one point, you even deigned to grant a long-haired, leather-clad youth a private demonstration of exactly what sort of unholy talents you were honing all these years under Gojo's watchful gaze. Up on the raised stage, working a pole with arched spine and legs wrapped in a scorpion-lithe grip, you rolled and thrashed in ethereal beauty - an incandescent vision of feminine sin unbound.

Gojo was beyond enthralled, beyond the point of return as your eyes met and held across the churning sea of drunken catcalls. Sweat trickled in liquid platinum rivulets from your hairline, weighting those silk strands to your flushed skin as the burnished gold of stage lights played sacrilegiously across acres of exposed dewy flesh.

You moved with unconscious artistry borne from decades of training and muscle memory - from the rebellious lick your tongue swiped over those sin-bitten lips to the deliberate circle of your hips as you remounted the pole upside down to the euphoric cheers of those gathered around the impromptu stage.

Reality narrowed to the carnal exhibition you presented, flayed bare and wanton, until the moment the hollow ring of the pole clanged emptily. And then Gojo was sliding from the shadows to collect you in his arms, relishing the trembling aftershock of exertion and pure, unchained bliss thrumming through your body.

"That's enough teasing for one night, pretty girl," he growled, scattering the rings of smitten voyeurs with one scathing sweep of his gaze. You whimpered in protestation, tangling damp fingers in the silk of his shirt to anchor him closer as you pleaded for his acquiescence.

"Please..." You slurred, voice husky and lush with the unnamed wantings that oozed from your every motion. "Please, I want..."

He sealed your plea with a claiming brand of lips, summoning a maelstrom of heat and friction that consumed your senses completely. Abstractly, you registered the distant howls and jeers of those witnessing your unrestrained depravity. But none of it mattered beyond the scorching ecstasy of his hands, squeezing and kneading territorial swathes across your exposed curves.

"Soon, baby," Gojo promised when you finally broke apart, his forehead cradled against yours as you both panted harsh reclamation of oxygen to your burning lungs. "Let's go home. You've been such a good girl...opened yourself up so pretty for me tonight. Now it's my turn to give you what you've earned."

Hazily, you clung to those molten words, trusting in them utterly even as Gojo swept you up into his arms like you weighed no more than a dream. The world tilted and spun with vertigo, but his presence was the anchor keeping you tethered - safe within the haven of his strength as he carried you out into the cool respite of the night.

At some point, the comforting haven of Gojo's granite chest and sandalwood cologne lulled your overtaxed senses into a state of blissful half-consciousness. So it came as a complete shock when you resurfaced some timeless eternity later, cradled in his arms on the precipice of a painfully familiar threshold...your dorm room's doorway.

As if splashed with a bucket of ice water, all the traces of syrupy drunkenness dissipated in one sobering rush, leaving you wide-eyed and incredulous as a horrible realization began to set in.

"Wha...what's going on?" you rasped, hastily prying yourself out of Gojo's embrace with as much detached dignity as a woman still panting from bone-deep arousal could muster.

You blinked dazedly, trying to make sense of the surroundings. But the usual anchors of time and place were hopelessly scrambled in the face of this man's penetrating stare and the phantom vestiges of smoke and revelry still haunting your senses.

"Hey now, it's alright," that deep, rumbly baritone soothed as you flinched from his proximity. "You're safe, pretty girl. Just let me get you inside and I'll explain everything."

He stepped into the washed-out hallway light and your breath stuttered in your lungs as a painfully familiar detail finally slammed into focus - the distinctive gleam of a pendant you knew better than your own name glinting from the hollow of his throat.

It all came rushing back in one headspinning epiphany - the decadent restaurant, the escalating tension, your uninhibited behavior as liquid courage set your baser instincts free...and through it all, Gojo's devotion to stoking that smoldering burn between you until neither could ignore the inevitable consummation hanging so tantalizingly close.

Your mouth dropped open in a soundless exhale as the missing pieces clicked into place. This wasn't some stranger - it was your enigmatic teacher himself, the object of your most scorching fantasies brought terribly, gloriously to life as he pinned you against the door with his signature brand of wicked provocation burning in those cobalt depths.

"Satoru..." you breathed, something like awestruck reverence lacing the name even as fresh heat bloomed across your cheeks.

One dark brow arched in wordless challenge, sensual lips still curved in that maddeningly familiar half-smirk. Almost absently, his free hand lifted to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip in a scorching caress.

"I'm listening, pretty girl," he purred, gaze dropping pointedly to the kiss-swollen pout before skating hungrily over every bared inch. "Why don't you tell me all about those dirty little fantasies that had you grinding away on stage like a dream?"

You shuddered hard, knees going watery at the explicit reminder and the intoxicating combination of sin and power radiating off him in waves. Despite your addled state, you knew there was no mistaking the naked challenge, the molten confirmation that Gojo returned your forbidden desires with equal fervor if the brand of his cock trapped snugly against your hip was any indication.

Which meant you could finally, blissfully unleash every scrap of wanton longing you'd been forced to keep confined behind useless layers of propriety and restraint for years. Here, now, with the man himself stoking your deepest wellsprings of lust and silently giving you leave to indulge like the wanton creature you'd always ached to be for him.

"Would you believe...that I've imagined this very moment more times than I can count?" you murmured in a rapturous rush before he could rescind the depraved permission.

You swayed helplessly into his solid weight as images from your most ardent daydreams began spilling freely - fevered scenes of his commanding, chiseled figure looming over your sweat-slicked body, mouth trailing liquid heat in its wake as he whispered the filthiest supplications against your neck.

"I've imagined you finding me like this before," you confessed in a breathless tumble, hands roving shamelessly over the crisp fabric of his shirt as you bared your darkest fantasies. "Completely messed up and desperate for you to touch me, use your mouth all over my body."

One of Gojo's hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back to allow his tongue to blaze a scorching path over the throb of your racing pulse. You bucked shamelessly against his restraint, giving voice to another shattered fragment:

"I dream about you taking me again and again once you see how filthy I really am, until I'm out of my mind from the pleasure..."

A rumbling growl against your sensitized skin had you dissolving into a full-bodied shudder, hips grinding wantonly against the delicious promise pinning you to the unforgiving surface of the door. Gojo pressed you tighter into the cradle of his hips, allowing the impressive ridge of his cock to catch torturously in the molten apex of your need.

"Fuck, baby...don't stop," he rasped hoarsely, shredded composure bleeding through every syllable. "Was this what had you so turned on for me tonight? The thought of me disgracing that pretty little body until you've been utterly ruined for anyone else's touch but mine?"

You whimpered through your nod, rendered incoherent by the liquid heat of his filthy words alone. He seemed to swell further at your reaction, one large palm trailing up your torso to cup your breast possessively as he rolled and kneaded the sumptuous weight. His thumb plucked and strummed at the pebbled peak in time with the scorching grind of his hips, every whisper of contact a blasphemous supplication to drag you higher into sin's rapture.

"Satoru, please..." you finally managed to whine, hands fisting in the crisp fabric of his collar to keep from flying apart at the seams and dissipating into the ether. "I need...I need you to--"

In a swirl of movement and shredded restraint, you found yourself engulfed in the sanctuary of his arms, weightless and adrift as he carried you towards the bedroom like you were made of fine-spun glass. The world narrowed down to his lips claiming yours in a wildfire of devastating possession while long fingers blindly worked the door open under your combined weight.

One desperate backwards stagger later and you tumbled together over the threshold of the sanctuary he'd frequented in your most explicit imaginings. Your mouths were fused, twin points of incandescence that warred with the scorching need to drink in every gasp and keen your lover wrung free from the deepest, most sacred parts of your core.

Gojo slanted the searing brand of his kiss to swallow down an especial wrecked whimper as you rolled and writhed in his unforgiving embrace, shameless in your quest to chase more blinding friction.

"Every night since I first realized my obsession with you, I've fantasized about this moment," he rumbled against the sensitive juncture of your jaw, stubble scraping with delicious friction over your overheated flesh. "I've wanted this for too long - finally getting you naked in my bed, my ruin."

On the next insistent rock of his hips aligning you like destined celestial bodies, his clever fingers finally delved beneath the scandalous drape of your skirt to trail liquid heat over your drenched pussy and the lust-soaked array of lace and satin still shielding your innermost petals. He drank in your shattered moan like a man dying of thirst.

"Tell me, baby," Gojo husked urgently, punctuating each scalding inflection with another maddening push of his fingers into your drooling cunt. "Is this as good as you always dreamed? Has it lived up to your filthiest fantasies about me?"

You were beyond intelligible speech at this point, pathetic mewls and whimpers the only coherent sounds able to punch past the miasma of ecstasy clouding your mind. Still, you nodded frantically, arching feverishly into every scorching caress of his hands and mouth as Gojo slowly divested you of the flimsy cloth barriers separating you from total rapture.

The heat in his reverent stare as he laid your trembling form bare before his searing brand of appreciation was like an animating force unto itself. You bloomed under his ravenous focus like the most exotic of orchids, petals unfurling in welcome of the summer storm about to consume you utterly in the sweetest of drownings.

All too soon, the last scrap of modesty was shredded away on a zephyr's breath, leaving you panting and laid bare in the erotic aftermath of his sinful touches. Gojo drank in every quivering arch and sumptuous hollow for a long, molten moment - pride and pure masculine satisfaction warring behind his smoldering stare as he committed every line and plane to memory, every seam and shadow.

"My sickest, filthiest desires made flesh before me at last..." he growled in sublime rapture, unbridled awe and molten reverence dripping from each seared syllable. "Been craving the chance to savor this forbidden pussy."

One of those broad, calloused palms trailed up the tender inside of your thigh, urging your limbs wider in a silent entreaty for maximum exposure. The other swept along the feminine flare of your hip and lower abdomen, mapping every flutter of anticipation as Gojo crept closer to his prize.

"Now at last I get to fuck you like I always wanted..." His fingertips glided upwards, utterly unhurried and indulgent until blessedly, he cradled your scalding pussy in the scultped cradle of his palm as your hips jerked off the sheets with a punched-out cry.

No fantasy, no fevered imagining could have prepared you for the sheer bliss of your first full-bodied contact with the man who had haunted your dreams since that first day under his tutelage. Gojo rendered you utterly insensate with just the elemental slide of skin against slick, swollen folds - one languid stroke after another swiftly calcifying into that most exquisite of tortures as he utterly mastered your pleasure centers.

"Gorgeous little slut," he purred in hushed reverence, pouring every ounce of sin into his touch as twin points of searing azure bored into your hooded stare. "Let go for me, pretty girl. Let me hear those filthy noises that have tortured me for years."

You shattered on the next lazy curl of his fingertips into your syrupy core, back arching like a bow from the mattress as a clarion call of pure rapture was punched free from that deepest most sacred wellspring of feminine bliss he'd awoken. Over and over, Gojo sent you spiraling into blessed oblivion with just the barest brush of his ardent touch and the fathomless depths of desire blazing from every line of his commanding frame.

Eventually, the shockwaves of ecstasy subsided, leaving you an overwrought tangle of boneless satisfaction amidst the erotic aftermath. Still, his grip was inextricable as Gojo anchored your trembling form to his chest, brushing lingering sweeps of reverence over your damp brow and along your sides.

"I've wanted this for so long," he rasped, voice still raw from unleashing the full depths of his passion. "To cherish and worship you as the rarest of treasures that you are, pretty girl." He pressed scorching brands of kisses along the curve of your neck and shoulder, lingering over the marks his ravenous mouth had laid down to signify your joining. "There will be no more hiding how much I want to wreck you after this. You are mine now...and I will let the whole world know. Tonight was just a teaser - now, you’re mine to fuck and lay claim to your body over and over again, whenever I want."

That molten reminder of his intent to satisfy his hunger over and over throughout the endless, intimate hours still to come sent anticipatory shivers cascading through your core. This night had merely been an appetizer, a sinfully delicious prelude to all the raptures your mysterious mentor intended to introduce you to now that the shackles of propriety had been thrown off for good.

Unable to conjure any further words of import, you simply allowed yourself to melt back into his granite embrace as the cosmos outside bled away entirely. Because in this sacred chamber of reverent sin and endless exploration of desire's profane mysteries, nothing mattered beyond giving yourself over mind, body and soul to the sensual devotions of the only man who had ever dreamed of mastering you completely.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru smut

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 months ago

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Hey! I love your writing so much, and was wondering if you could do an Eris x reader, maybe an enemies to lovers tension where reader is Lucien’s best friend and he brings her to Eris’s ball? Honestly anything with Eris and a little ✨tension✨

warning: past trauma/abuse

Never get too close

“Are you sure?”, Lucien had both of your hands in his as he repeated his question for what felt like a thousand times. “Yes, Lulu. Go!”, you squeezed his hands reassuringly. You had accompanied him to one of the autumn court balls. It had always been like that. If he was forced to go you always went with him. “I promise I will…”, Lucien started but you quickly cut him off, “No, promises. Go to her, she’s waiting in that garden for you”, you pushed him away slightly, nodding towards the balcony. He had been so miserable since Elain. Ready to give up on it all. It took months of trying to find his fire once again and now. Now you wanted him to live again. “You’re my favorite”, Lucien beamed, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Careful, that might break hearts”, you teased him, making him roll his eyes as he turned toward the glass door. While you sent all the prayers you knew up to Mother in hopes of this girl being nothing like the others.

“Little brother is a troll for leaving a lady like you all alone”, the voice, deep as an autumn night filled your senses. Making goosebumps run down your arms. It was always like that. Had always been like that. But you shifted your face to cool indifference as you turned to face none other than the most annoying man alive.

“Don’t flatter yourself Eris”, you mused, eyes watching him as you slowly sipped on your drink. He looked you up and down. Fiery eyes scorched your skin as he drank you in. And as pathetic as it sounded you had picked the deep green dress in hopes of seeing him. It was so stupid. But beneath it all you wanted his attention. Wanted it just the same as you were a youngling. That girl he had turned down all those years ago still holding a candle out for him.

“Thought two months away from me would rekindle your love for me”, Eris smirked, changing your drink with a fresh one. His fingers barely touching yours but enough to make your whole body tingle. “Two decades wouldn’t be enough time away from you”, you smiled at him bitterly. Eris simply licked his lips before chuckling softly, “Mother, do i love when you bring your claws out. Do you bite too?”, he was always like this. A flirt. A womanizer. Girls circled him like moths but they only got burnt by him.

“You’re pathetic, Eris”, with a roll of an eye you turned from him. Suddenly wishing that you hadn’t let Lucien go after all. Wishing that your dress wasn’t as revealing, because breathing suddenly became more harder. “Heard the mission was a success”, Eris called out making you halt. You were a general in Night court. Purely a dig at Eris. Or that’s how you wanted it to look. Because you didn’t let yourself think about Beron with his hand around your throat no more. Didn’t let yourself think about the reason you chose to move courts. Leave. Run…

“How many times did you pull Luci out of a ditch?”, Eris’s asked making you blink a couple of times as his voice chased the old memory away. “A couple”, you snorted, before turning to face the heir of fire once more, “he’s lost, I think…”, you muttered the last part glancing towards the glass door.

“In males and females, yes he is”, Eris sighed, turning to face your way as well, eyes no doubt catching a glimpse of Lucien twirling a strand of the girl's hair around his fingers. “But I rather he explores his desires than rots in a room because of an unreciprocated love”, his words made your heart skip a beat and for the first time that night, you had looked at him. Seen him. The tired eyes. The hallowed face. He was strong. Had always been. But his demons weren’t kind to him. “Speaking from experience?”, you smiled at him sweetly. Eris slowly lifted his hand, his fingers softly tracing your jaw, “Oh, you don’t even imagine, my dear”. It was so tender. So soft. But you had been a victim of his actions before. So as much as your heart drummed against the locks and cages you had put around it, you found it hard to let this feel special.

“Sometimes i wonder why you hate me”, you muttered and it’s as if your words. Words that were barely a whisper had chased the softness away. Eris’s eyes darkened once more as he set his jaw. “You’re too easy”, he said in that well-practiced cold tone. “Oh, here we go again”, you grunted, shaking your head but not daring to look away from him just yet. Eris watched you for a moment before muttering, “You’re ready to bleed for anyone if they hold you in the right way”, and it’s as if all the air around you had been sucked out. The room seemed to tilt as Eris’s words slammed into you. Your eyes stung with a promise of tears but you refused to let him see you cry. “At least I’m willing to let people hold me, not like you”, you clipped back, showing your glass against his chest, before turning to leave. Pushing through the nauseating sea of people. Pulling at the corset ribbons in the hope of letting any more air into your lungs.

#eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x reader #eris vansera #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra acotar imagine #eris acotar imagine #eris acotar x reader #acotar eris #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction

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benevolenterrancy · 8 months ago

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When Xie Lian and his bad luck stumbled in and broke that vase Hua Cheng thought his every prayer had been answered -- he now has an iron-clad excuse to keep Dianxia close, dress him in nice clothes, feed him nice food… ideal! He did not stop to calculate the fact that it would mean watching Xie Lian flirt with Literally Everyone. Except. Him. Yin Yu did caluclate this but no one listens to him.

additional Ouran AU thoughts...

yin yu gets more requests than you'd expect, specifically around exam season. he's just a pleasant, solid sort of person who handles people having exam stress breakdowns very well

he xuan is also here due to a debt he refuses to elaborate on. he could have paid it back already but he quickly realized the best food on campus is here and eats enough to dig himself deeper and deeper in debt

50/50 shot if you'll find shi qingxuan as male or female, it's a real lottery for guests that have a preference

feng xin and mu qing are both here. they are not prepared to meet xie lian again after all these years, especially not in this context. he is REALLY not prepared to meet them like this either. he'd prefer no dress, thanks.

what on god's green earth is feng xin doing in a host club when he can't handle women At All? everyone would like to know this. the only reason hua cheng hasn't kicked him out is because he finds his discomfort HILARIOUS

pei ming is a VERY enthusiastic guest to the general dismay of every host. lately though he's been having a good time eating snacks and watching hua cheng and xie lian circle around each other in a very pathetic and no-at-all-subtle way. ho ho.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #ouran high school host club #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #shi qingxuan #he xuan #yin yu #beefleaf #shi qingxuan will always be determined to get his friends to play with gender with him and ouran has gnc baked into its dna #my art

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huntress-den · 4 months ago

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• ☽ THE HUNT ☾ •

The night of the summer solstice has arrived.

You and the other willing unmarked are sitting at the main burrow. Waiting. You were prepared by the elders of the Warren. You were bathed in salts and herbs and told to wear your scent proudly. Your hair was let loose and your body purified by the chanting and the burning sandalwood incense around you.

You can hear the rest of the Warren outside. They're laughing, chanting, and singing. You know they're marching to the bonfire. You know they're there to witness and cheer for what's about to come. You know it's too late to back down now. You ask yourself if you would, given the choice.

No time to think about it, the Head Omega and their handmaidens knock on the door. They enter and inspect you from head to toe along with the others. They ask if everything is ready, if this year's harvest can be presented to the Warren and its hunters.

The elders say yes. The time has come.

You're lined along with the other Omegas. Betas bearing flower crowns are brought in to escort you and your fellow Omegas to the festival. To make sure you're safe, 'til time comes you can't be anymore.

The Head Omega leads the procession along with their maidens. Your assigned Beta leads you gently behind them. At the procession's tail-end the Omegas elders that helped prepare you follow in line. Candles in hand for the goddess of fire, and prosperity and protection prayers on their lips in a sibilant wave of whimpering.

The crisp night air and your bare feet on the cold grass make you shiver. You can smell the smoke, you can see the light at the bottom of the slope.

Everyone is there. Faces adorned in the goddess's symbols and colours. They're dressed in their ritual clothing of the festival, green crowns of leaves on their heads contrasting with the vivid yellow one you are decorated with.

They're all excited to see you. This year's harvest was bountiful, the goddess has touched many Omegas to partake in their honour. The Warren is in favour and is blessed. You're a goddess-given gift to the Pack.

You look around. There's tables and more tables of food and drink, but no one is eating yet. Drums and a gong are a further back, but no one is playing yet. There's ribbons and flowers hanging from the frame around the site, swaying in the wind. And in the middle of it all is a tall, raging bonfire. The only light around. The only thing illuminating the dark forest that circles the festival. Your soon-to-be destiny.

Suddenly howling breaks from the crowd, your neck snaps in the direction they're all looking at. From the other side of the fire and down the opposite slope, in a similar procession to your own, are descending this year's hunters. Led by the Head Alpha and their first and second in command.

Unlike you though, they're led to the other edge of the bonfire. Away from the rest of the pack. Older Alphas keep a siege around the young hunters. Oppressing looks keeping their youngling in check. The hunters don't look up at you or any other Omega. You know they can't. You know they want to. You know this just fuels them further for the hunt.

They are trying their best to keep still. But you can see the lust coursing through their veins through the dancing hot air around the bonfire. You know it's like a rope pulled taught, about to snap as soon as the night truly starts.

After the Head Alpha and Head Omega announce the beginning of the festival and offer their blessings and wishes for this Year's participants and the Warren as a whole, your assigned Beta hands you a shallow dish with a colourful liquid. It smells and tastes funny. It makes your body buzz and your mind swirl a little. After you drink everything, your Beta leads you to the edge of the forest. They offer their blessings and wishes for a good match. They kiss your forehead and your hands and depart to join the crowd.

You're on your own now.

No more laughing or singing is coming from the pack. They're all waiting in anticipation. There's silence for a long while. The wind is making you shiver. You can feel the lingering eyes behind your back. The wait feels eternal.

The howling Head Alpha and Omega break the spell. It started. The hunt has begun and you need to run. Now.

You and the other unmarked Omegas are given a head start. The hunters wait back at the festival patiently, eyes cast down, as the forest veils your form. Howls from everyone in the Warren join the Heads of pack in a deafening call for savagery. The full moon is now your only guardian and the dark your only protection.

You run around in the blackened florest, bare save for the flower garlands adorning your hair, wrists and neck. You need to find somewhere to hide. You need to keep moving or any ordinary Alpha might catch up with you. You need to be nimble like a hare and clever like a fox. You need to outsmart your predators.

But your mind is swirling and your legs feel like stones tied to your hips. Every corner looks the same in the dark. You can't tell if you passed here already. If you're walking in circles or if you're far enough from the fire already.

The drums have been going back at the bonfire, you can hear them from afar. The starting gong rings, it vibrates down your spine. The hunters are released in the dark. Your time is up.

Alphas invade the forest. The shadows sway along the primitive rhythm of the music. Your breathing gets louder, your heartbeat floods your ears. It makes it difficult to tell apart the sounds of the night and the stalking of the hunters behind you.

You run for what feels like forever. More howls fill the night as the first of your kin are caught. You can't tell where you are. You can't tell how close they are to you. You don't know if the flowers around your neck are helping to hide you or just signaling where you are to all the moon-drunk Alphas hunting you down.

You run and run and without noticing you've reached a wall. The earth is too slippery to climb. There are no burrowing spaces around and the forest floor looks like a treacherous ocean of fallen trees. You don't know where to go. And just as you think you've found a narrow escape path you suddenly hear behind you: The snap of a twig on the floor. You've been found.

There's no time to think. You take your shot and run towards the path. You're fast. You're clever. You can outsmart them if you only continue running. It seems you'll make it, it seems you've lost them. But as you're running you're caught on the thick weave of roots on the hard-to-see floor. You fall. There's silence. You can't see anyone.

You try getting up and continue moving. But before you can get further, from behind a tree a hand snaps around your arm. Before you know what's going on your back is against the rough bark of the tree. Your wrists are being held above your head and the flowers around your neck are being ripped away by urgent teeth.

You struggle and fight with all your strength. You manage to land a kick on their gut. You scratch away with your claws when their hands loosen up, not caring what you catch in the process. Sliding away from them you try running again. But a strong hand slithers around your neck from behind. You're pulled tight against a solid unyielding body. Hands stuck, locked firm behind your back. Their other hand grabs your hair firmly, and tugs roughly to reveal your now exposed neck glands. This makes you whimper, and that in turn makes them growl. You can feel something warm dripping on your shoulder. It's the blood you drew from their face in your struggle. You can't tell if they're angry.

You wait for the bite to come at once. But it doesn't. Instead the Hunter just buries their nose in your glands. Taking in your chosen scent. Their teeth only graze your mating glands. Their hand detangles itself from your hair and travels down your chest, caressing it gently. This elicits a moan from you. They growl back again. Encouraged by your response, they circle your hips, and squeeze firmly. It feels like they're testing you. Studying you. Making sure you're ripe and ready. They don't bite still. As they lick your neck they seem to only care to take in your responses. You're shivering. You're hot. And when their surprisingly gentle hands travel further south, between your legs, you realise you're also dripping wet.

Your sopping parts are all they were looking for as confirmation. They bring you down to your knees with them still pressed hard against you. You can feel their arousal radiating from their body. They spread your legs as they drape their own body over your back. Forcing you in a presenting position. Their mouth finds its way to your ear.

"Ask for it" they whisper. You shake your head no. But your hips betray you as you press closer to them.

"Yield. It's done. Call for the hunter that earned you" They move their teeth back to your neck. Their canines prickling at your glands. Waiting patiently for your reply.

"Please" You beg. You are still deciding what you're begging for. Release or consummation.

"Clearer" they command.

You can't handle it anymore. Your hands hurt, their teeth are driving you crazy, and you never leaked so much in your life needing to be bred.

"Bind me" you cry at last.

And as their teeth sink into your neck, breaking the skin and spilling your blood on the earth. You know it is over. You've been caught. You've succumbed as the prey.

That's just the beginning, however.

The night is filled with your whimpers and moans as they bite you, kiss you and ravish you. Marking you with their fingers, their tongue, their mouth and their own leaking genitals. Shaping you into their perfect prize.

Your climax sobs mix themselves with their own possessive growls and the howls of the warren in the distance. You collapse tired and spent on the forest floor. You're nearly dozing off as your Alpha picks you up in their arms and carries you back to the festival.

The howling that welcomes you makes your head hurt. Your Alpha has you secured though. They take you to a bench closer to the fire, they sit with you on their lap still holding you tight. The warmth feels good on your sore body. They hand you a bowl of water and prod you to eat something. You don't want to eat, but they insist and so you do. You watch as other Omegas around the fire seem to be in similar positions. Some are already asleep. While the ones with more energy occupied themselves with more rounds of mating. Calling for the goddess and their new partner like their life depended on it.

You let yourself be lulled to sleep by the warmth of their body and the fire, the howling, moaning, laughing and music around you slowly fading into your brain like a single homogeneous call to oblivion.

"Rest, my Omega. I'll be here when you wake".

Before you can help yourself. Without thinking, the words slip from your lips. Naturally, like they've always belonged there. Like they'd always be uttered from then on.

"Yes, Alpha".

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marigold-hills · 3 months ago

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Dunes & Waters, part 39

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

There's a courtyard. Sun-bleached, limestone-pale. In the middle of it a square, ornate pond. The water is shallow. A single red lotus flower grows in the middle like a drop of blood in the stillness.

A woman wades through the water. From the richness of her skin to the way she moves, everything about her is stated affluence. She wears a dress so white and sheer each line of her body can be seen. She looks to where she’s watched, and says: “im(i) Hr.k, Í mry.t,”. Pay attention, my beloved.

She holds a pair of golden scissors and cuts the stem of the flower. Picks up the bloom with open, outstretched fingers, careful not to bruise the petals. Murmurs soft words and it levitates next to her, follows as she steps out of the water, onto the stone ground, where in a sunken divot logs are stacked up and burning. Atop them, a copper bowl, the metal softly steaming.

Pay attention.

She holds a vial of clear liquid and pours it into the hot bowl. It hisses as it hits the surface, bubbles up immediately. When it calms down, she picks up a branch. It’s thorny. The leaves are green and lush. She rips them off with deft fingers and throws them into the boiling liquid.

May you live, she says, as a warm, honey-filled scent raises from the bowl, “ȧmȧ ānkh.ek,”. The leaf-free stick she uses to stir it, three times in the way the sun raises, five times as it sets.

She takes off a necklace and there’s a lock of hair braided into the cord. Unpicks it. Adds the hair (black, curled) into the bowl. Stirs it again, watches with hawk-eyes that it doesn’t boil.

“Uaḥ-tep-tah,” she says once she’s finished stirring. Live long life on earth.

Plucks the lotus flower from the air. It’s beautiful, flawless, perfection in the spiral of leaves. Hands brought together as if in prayer she crushes the petals into pulp. Throws it into the simmering liquid.

“wnn pt wnn.T xr.i.”

As long as the sky exists, you will exist within me.

The potion turns a sunset red. She places the wood she used for stirring into it, and it floats on the surface, turns in lazy circles.

There’s a clay pitches by the pond and she fills it with its water, uses it to douse the flames. The potion she tips into a glass vial and corks it.

Do this on a day of new moon, she says, and use when it’s next full.

The memory fades. She smiles wide, with teeth. NOTES:

Í mry.t is the female version of “my beloved” :) just a little hidden thing

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@arasael

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #fanfic #dead gay wizards #remus x sirius #marauders era #dunes and waters

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hyakinthou-naos · 4 months ago

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Hyakíntha Ritual: The Heortē

1. Ceremonial Garments

As we celebrate the resurrection of Prince Hyacinthus, we adorn ourselves in clothing that reflects our joy and celebration. Jewelry and adornments that honor Prince Hyacinthus and Lord Apollo are worn in abundance as an outward symbol of our joy. Warm shades of oranges, yellows, and whites remind us of the God of Prophecy - and cooler shades of greens and purples remind us of the Spartan Prince.

2. Khernips & Purification

Following the days events, we don our garments and parade to The Temple. We reach the steps and ramps of The Temple's entrance, both adorned with hyacinths, sunflowers, lavender, and larkspur. The Temple's doors are opened wide, music playing from within

The entrance chamber holds a bowl of water where flaming leaves of bay and laurel have been extinguished. The water splashes as we joyfully wash our hands in the lustral water, cleansing ourselves before we enter The Temple's center.

3. Gathering at the Altar

We proceed into The Temple's center; the music still playing softly as we enter. The altar is positioned in the center of the room, behind which stands the Temple's Steward - dressed in robes of purple. Chairs and pillows for seating are arranged in a semi-circle in front of the altar.

We take our seats

4. Opening Prayer & Deity Invocation

We settle into our chosen seats, as the music and conversations slowly fade away. The Steward stands behind the altar and lights the center candle, and speaks:

Hestia, great goddess of the ancients - Daughter of the Titans Cronus and Rhea - She who is honored before all others. We gather here today and ask that you accept this flame, as a humble offering to you. Hestia, goddess of hearth and home Lead our way, and light our path.

The Steward then moves to light the second candle, and raises their arms to the heavens, saying:

Lord Apollo, shinning god of light and prophecy Son of Lord Zeus and Lady Lêta Lover of Hyacinthus, for whom we celebrate today O bright and shining Lord, we ask that you accept this flame and grace us with your presence. We call upon you today, great god of music and healing, to bare witness to our ritual - as we celebrate the return of your love, the beautiful Hyacinthus, Prince of Sparta. May Lord Hermes carry these words from our lips, to your ears, on mighty Mount Olympus. Du et des, we give so you may give.

Lastly, the Steward moves to light the third candle and the ceremonial incense, and raises their arms to the heavens, saying:

O Hyacinthus, noble prince of Sparta, Son of Amyclas and Diomede, brother of Polyboia Beloved of Apollo, the divine son of Zeus O strong yet gentle Prince, we ask that you accept these offerings of flame and incense - and be with us today We call upon you, radiant prince of blooming flowers, to bear witness to our ritual - as we celebrate your return into the arms of your beloved. May Lord Hermes carry these words from our lips, to your ears, in the heavens where you live forever more.

5. Hymns & Music

As the Steward concludes their prayer, they open a book sat behind the altar - The Temple's book of hymns. The pages turn as the Hytheria settles on a passage, and begins to read:

A Hymn for Hyacinthus [Altered Version]

Oh to the lover of our Lord We see you in every shade of lavender We feel you in every warm spring breeze We understand you every time lovers look into each others eyes. How did he look - the Lord of the Muses - When you ran your fingers through his hair? How did it feel? To touch the sun To feel its warmth Oh how we envy you Oh how we honor you Oh how we rejoice in you Oh lover of our Lord

We Are For You; a Hymn to Lord Apollo [Altered Version]

Lord Phoebus He who shines light into our darkness, He who brings music to our souls. Who would we be without your graces? Who would we be without your love? Oh sweet Lord of all we hold dear - You have been with us - all the days of our lives Waiting patiently for our devotion. And we are here- Knees bent, Eyes closed, Heart open. We are for you, Lord Apollo - We are for you.

The Steward finishes his reading, placing the book back from whence it came, and arranges for the music to begin. Before starting the music, the Steward speaks:

I invite you all to listen to this music, and think of Lord Apollo, and Prince Hyacinthus. Think of how their love, though interrupted by fate, is everlasting. Think of how their dedication to each other is not diminished by their loving of others. Love is boundless, it is joy and lust and adventure - but it is also work and struggle and pain. All that is, is imperfect, even the Gods. Love is imperfection; love exists in multitudes; love is the power we feel here today.

While today we celebrate romantic love, platonic love is just as powerful - and love need not be romantic to be worth the effort.

I invite you all, in the center of this room or from the seats which you have chosen, to dance and be joyful. For today we celebrate love - in all its many forms.

Music begins to play, and the Steward joins the congregation in a dance of youthful joy.

6. Libations

As the music concludes, and the dancers return to their seats, the Steward places a large ceremonial bowl in the center of the participants. The Steward then returns with glasses filled with liquid, giving one to each of those in attendance. The Steward stands in front of the altar and speaks:

In honor and reverence of the ancient ways, we hold before us a libation of milk and water. As we pour these libations, we offer them to Prince Hyacinthus, and Lord Apollo. They who bring us joyous spring, they who show us unending love, they who hold our hands through sorrow - we offer this to them.

We all pour our libations into the center bowl, the liquids swirl and splash, as they all come together as one in the bowl's center.

7. Divination

[Ritual attendees/participants are encouraged to engage in their own personal divination with Prince Hyacinthus and/or Lord Apollo at this time.]

8. Closing Prayers

As the pouring of the libations concludes, the Steward returns to behind the altar. The Steward takes a moment to pause, before speaking:

With joy and laughter, with awe and amazement We conclude this evening rite We give thanks to radiant Lord Apollo, God of music and medicine And his beloved, Prince Hyacinthus, whose beauty and spirit are once again alive Lord Apollo, glorious archer, we thank you for your guiding light, For the wisdom and strength you gift to us, And for the music that stirs our hearts May you continue to inspire and protect us We give thanks to Prince Hyacinthus, he who is noble and pure We honor your return and celebrate you ascension to the heavens Your life, a testament to beauty - a beacon in the darkness, a refuge in the storm May your story echo within us, Reminding us of fleeting life and eternal love

The Steward raises their arms to the heavens, and once again speaks:

May the blessings of Apollo and Hyacinthus Guide us our paths, fill our hearts with joy, And guide us in harmony and peace.

The Steward lowers their arms and extinguishes the second candle, before speaking for a final time:

Hestia, first -

The Steward blows out the center candle.

- and last

And with that, the ritual is concluded.

#Hyakíntha Ritual: The The Heortē #Hyakíntha #Hyakintha #Hyakintha Ritual #The Temple of Hyacinthus #Lord Hyacinthus #Hyacinthus #Lord Apollo #Apollo #Textpost #HelPol #Hellenic Polytheism #Hyakintha Day 2

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silent-dark-entries · 10 months ago

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Something I’m in the middle of writing !!!

Word Count: 1175!!

Warnings: Still proofreading so maybe some mistakes! Also my first Wizarding world fic so its probably not accurate ._. This also will be a smut but I’m just plot building :))

Oh!!! And seizure warning!!

Birdie looks herself in the mirror for the fourth time. Was her dress too short, too tight? She can't breathe, so she loosens her ribbons...for the third time. Maybe a muggle designer wasn't the brightest idea, but it's too late. Birdie can feel her friends, Nerissa and Imogene, growing impatient waiting outside in the Slytherin common room. They never have troubles getting dressed for these types of things. They're the exact same body type, if it looks good on one of them it'll surely look good on the other.

Birdie looks one more time. A green plaid slip dress, and shiny Mary Jane platforms Final decision.

Birdie takes a swig of the smuggled in firewhisky as her and her fellow Slytherins make their way to the Gryffindor common room. The burn is dreadful but nostalgic nonetheless.

Birdie listens to her friend's talk but doesn't give them a second thought. She feels guilty of course. She had ignored their letters all summer holiday scared they would've known what she was up to. Scared they knew what her Mother had done. She didn't even sit with them during the sorting ceremony. In fact, she hid in the toilets when the food had come out. But they found her and cornered her asking if they had done something wrong. She denied it and just blamed it on an upset tummy.

Someone in the front of the line of students does the secret knock making the fat lady creek open. The students move through the silenced, glowing green, stone tunnel into the common room full of students. Birdie takes another swig of the fire whiskey before it's swiped by Imogene.

"Pace yourself Birdie." Nerissa says as they find their designated corner to stand in. Imogene throws her sandy Blonde hair behind her tiny shoulders before taking a hefty sip. She screws her face as the burn leaves her throat.

"Fuck's sake Birdie! They weren't kidding when they named this shit." Imogene rasps out. The three girls laugh before taking more tiny sips each.

Birdie floats towards the dance crowd as muggle hip hop blares through the speakers, her friends following closely behind her. Birdie throws her arms up along with the firewhiskey as she yells along to the lyrics of Rump Shaker. Birdie shakes her ass to the beat and occasionally drops to the floor as she's sandwiched between the two girls.

The crowd cheers as the song ends. Birdie opens her eyes that she hadn't realized were shut tight. The room spins beneath her feet as she makes her way towards a group of people sitting on the floor in a circle.

"What is this? huh, some kind of prayer circle?" Birdie snorts out. Birdie hates being seen as a mean girl but it's what people expect from her.

"It's kiss or drink." A gravelly voice from below her says. Birdie looks down at the familiar voice that she usually has great talent in ignoring to see none other than Fred Weasley staring back at her. He smiles up at her before blowing out the smoke from the joint he held between his lips. "We'd ask you to join us, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to tarnish that niminy-piminy attitude you keep up."

Birdie's jaw dropped. Her first thought is to take her bottle she has clenched in her hand and smash it against his head. But instead she sits where she stood inbetween Fred and some nobody sixth year. She keeps her eyes straight ahead ignoring the stares coming from the rest of the group.

Hannah Abbot, a geeky blonde girl leans forward and spins the green translucent bottle that sits in the middle of the circle. The groups hoops and howls as it lands on Neville Longbottom. Hannah giggles as she crawls across the circle closer to Neville before feverishly locking lips with him. Birdie bites her tongue trying desperately not to gag at the sight of the spit string between them as they part. Neville spins the bottle awkwardly fast.

Birdie takes the last swig of her fire whiskey instantly regretting it for it finally sent her over the tipsy versus drunk threshold. She wipes the dribble from her mouth before putting the bottle down between her thighs. She looks at the bottle in the middle to see who it landed on and it's of course her. Birdie looks up to see Neville moving towards her slowly.

"Take the drink Longbottom." Birdie says through her teeth. Neville nods defeatedly before throwing a shot from the bottle back. Birdie rolls her eyes before clumsily leaning in to spin the bottle. She looks around the circle to see if there's anyone worthy enough to kiss but sees no one she actually cares to kiss. Which works out for her for the bottle lands on herself.

"Well I can't kiss myself." Birdie picks up her shot.

"It's on Freddie." George cheekily says. "You have to kiss Freddie!" Birdie looks back down at the bottle. Certainly it's slightly pointed to the left, straight at Fred.

"Just let her take the shot! I told you she's too priggish to kiss anyone here." Fred sneers. Birdie slams her shot glass down and gets on her knees. She throws her arm around Fred's neck and the other hand on his cheek. Pushing him closer to her face until their lips finally meet. Soft and innocent first until Fred dips deeper snaking his arm around her body pulling her closer and slipping his tongue against hers.

Birdie breaks first scooting back on her knees leaving Fred's body cold next to her. She takes the joint from his hand whilst standing and stumbling away to find her friends, leaving the the small circle speechless

"Well" George says breaking the silence. "I don't know how we could continue after that."

Birdie finds her friends in the corner with their arms crossed staring back at her. She takes a hit of the joint and offers it to her friends in which they partake.

"What the hell was that shit, Missulena?" Nerissa says blowing the smoke into the air.

"It was hot!" Imogene says. Birdie shrugs lazily.

"She's pissed. We should get back to the dorms before she gets sick." Nerissa says gesturing them towards the door.

Birdie follows behind her friends before feeling a sharp pain it the middle of her forehead. She shakes off the pain before searching for her friends in the crowd. Birdie stumbles forward but before she could catch her balance she feels her legs give out beneath her making her fall straight on her back. Her arms become stiff against the sides of her sides as her back arch towards the ceiling. Birdie's eyes rolls eerily to the back of her head as her gaped mouth lets out a ghostly howl.

Nerissa and Imogene push pass through the crowd surrounding as Birdie's body rattles violently against the old rug beneath her body. Birdie looks up at her friends through her tear filled eyes. Until her eyes finally closed.

#fred wealsey fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley smut #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley fanfiction #fred and george #draco #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco smut #draco x reader #draco x y/n #harry potter #draco malfoy smut #hogwarts #hp fandom #Spotify

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hanayori89 · 6 months ago

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Full Circle

*Ordon Village*

Link continued to fiddle with his green hat. He admired the way it was coming apart at the seams, much like himself. He should have left it in Kakariko with Y/N's dress.

Link sat on his bed. At an absolute loss, he recognized he could only stall for so long. With or without Zelda urging him to do so, he knew he must listen to the shadow.

Zelda. That was the other problem. How would he break free and meet her at the Temple of Time?

Hylia, please help me. Link bowed his head in prayer. The back of his hand began to sear with a familiar prickling sensation. He looked at his Triforce, hoping to see its scintillating golden glow of guidance, yet it remained dull. Once again, Hylia had ignored his prayers.

"Link." Ilia's voice drifted from his doorframe. He knew, from the alluring way in which she spoke, what it was she desired. She stood before him in nothing but her undergarments.

Link automatically seized his face in between his hands.

"I-Ilia- " he floundered as he thought of another way to stall.

"Shh. Talking time is over. Why are you still dressed?" A devious grin that could eat him whole possessed her. "No matter. I'll undress you."

Before Link was aware of anything more, he felt the crushing weight of her straddling him. He scrunched his eyes closed. For the first time, he was a helpless civilian being overpowered by an assailant.

She's so fast. And heavy. This shadow is completely overtaking her. I wonder if there is any Ilia left in there.

"Ilia!" Link shouted. Her face floated above his as her hands roamed every inch of his body in search of his belt. A satisfying growl escaped her lips as she viciously pulled it off. The only thing Link could think of during this assault was Y/N. Again, the smell of her hair resided on his pillow. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be transported to Renado's home, where the soft glow of the moon hugged her frame as she lay beside him.

He thought of her softened e/c eyes studying his lacerations as she cleaned them.

"Yes. Because it was my first kiss, it was special. Even more so because it came from you."

He thought of the majesty of Y/N's lips.

Only now it was Ilia's lips swamping his own. He tried to fight against her, restraining her wrists and momentarily overpowering her. It proved to be futile, however. The more he resisted, the more forceful the shadow became.

He had to know if Ilia was still in there somewhere. Was there still a chance she could be saved? Or was he about to be violated by a demon wearing Ilia's flesh as a costume?

He managed to restrain her once more. "Ilia! Please! This isn't you! What if I was Epona? Would you ever treat Epona this way?"

"Epona?" A spark of life returned to the dead, pale blue of her eyes. She paused atop Link, Epona's name loading on her blank face. Link had hit a nerve. She was still in there.

"Yes, Epona. The ride home was the most interaction she's had with you, Ilia. She misses you. I miss you." Link's sincerity radiated nothing but the raw truth. He did miss Ilia. She was family to him. All this ugliness was not the Ilia he knew. This wickedness belonged to the decrepit shadow who was extinguishing the light in Ilia's soul.

Piece by piece.

Bit by bit.

"Link, I..." Her voice was a feeble plea.

"Fight it, Ilia. You must fight it." Link begged. He could feel his Triforce react to the energy of evil in between them. Link casually tossed a glance at the back of his hand. What was going on? He could feel it burning his flesh; nevertheless, it remained lackluster.

"Looking for something?" A course, gravelly voice rolled out of Ilia's mouth without the movement of her lips. Her blue irises became subservient to the jaundice overtaking her eyes. She began to weep streams of foul-smelling puss. As if by electrocution, she jolted upright, rolling her eyes in the back of her head.

"Ilia!" Link roared with anguish at the sight of his friend physically being dismantled before him. With all the strength he could muster, he managed to push Ilia and tackle her onto the floor. He pinned her down, but his strength was no match for the demonic entity breaking loose.

"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" Link kept screaming hopelessly. The more hysterical he became, the more delight the shadow took. Its deranged laugh scraped against his eardrum like nails ripping into flesh.

"AHAHAHA! What are you carrying on about, boy? Like you care. You're too busy fawning over that pathetic half-breed, Twili. Do you think what I'm doing to your little friend hurts her now? Imagine the hurt she'll feel when she learns you're in love with someone else. One of me, for that matter. Her suffering makes no difference to me. Just some food for thought."

Half-breed?

Swiftly, the shadow returned to its role of dominance. It took one of its fingers, brashly shoving Link off. He went flying into the wall of his room. His back slammed against it with such force that, for a moment, he thought he heard the shattering of one of his vertebrae. He slid down the wall; the shock of the impact rendered him silent.

And ashamed.

He couldn't win.

Link didn't bother looking up. He could feel the shadow standing over him. The repugnant fluid pouring from its eyes was now at a heavier flow. It spilled over his head like a bucket of ice water, christening him in its evil. The stench of decay was like sulfur in his lungs. He covered his nose as he sat submissively before the shadow.

"Look at you. Pitiful. Where is your goddess now? Where is she in your time of need? That pathetic scribble on your hand won't save you. Nor will your goddess."

It lifted its leg, which was still Ilia's, or human, rather, and stepped on Link's stomach. It pressed down slightly, causing him to lurch forward, clamoring for air. "Agh!" Link gasped. It continued to step down further. It grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to stare into its vacant eyes.

"And you're the one who saved Hyrule. What trash. Are you going to listen to me now, or must I go through this again?"

The air around Link became scarce. He decided that passing out would be the humane path for himself. He would not give this shadow the gratification it wanted. He'd let it squash his ribcage if it must. The shadow grew visibly more impatient, stepping down with more force on his stomach.

He didn't even want it to have the satisfaction of his pain. He let out a small whimper. "Nrgh..."

"Rude boy. I said..."

"Hello, Link? Anyone home?"

Renado's voice poured throughout his home, providing Link with a break from the abuse. The shadow scoffed, "You have a guest! Get rid of him!"

Link let out a gentle wheeze. Why was Renado here? He couldn't bear for another friend of his to be destroyed by this entity. Hylia forbid, was Luda with him?

"Link? Are you alright? I must excuse myself; I am coming up." He could hear Renado's purposeful footsteps approach. The shadow hissed. "Pests! This isn't over, Link!" It ran towards Link's window, unlatching it and perching on the windowsill. Its head rotated around, so it could stare at him.

"Remember my warning. Don't go near Y/N. Unless you want to hang her head as a decoration." Ilia's blue irises dropped back into her eyes. The weeping retracted, flowing back into the passage of her eye sockets. It snapped its head forward and leapt into the night.

Renado appeared in Link's doorway. "Link!" He quickly trotted towards him, kneeling down at his side. "That smell. The darkness I sensed. It's here, isn't it?"

Link couldn't find his voice. Renado helped Link to his feet, assisting him onto his bed. Once Link sat, he cradled his sore stomach. He managed to mutter, "Luda?" He didn't see the little girl anywhere in sight.

"She's at Beth's. She wanted to stay there for tonight. I came here to deliver Y/N's dress."

Y/N's name was like another blow to his stomach, causing him to suck his breath in and double over in pain.

"Rest. Let me see, do you have ice? Bandages? You look like you're in bad shape, my friend." Renado got up, making his way into Link's bathroom in search of anything he could use to help quell his pain.

"Paper and pen."

"Forgive me, Link; I don't quite understand. Do you need to write to communicate with me?"

"Yes." Link was afraid to say Y/N's name. He wasn't sure where the shadow was. He needed to pull himself together to get to Zelda.

It was one thing to let himself down, but he would not let anymore of his friends down. He refused. He stared again at the stillness of his Triforce. Why wasn't it responding to him? It appeared to Link that beyond the Sacred Grove, he would also be making another pilgrimage through the Temple of Time.

The time for the Master Sword was at hand once again. But would the Master Sword respond to him? Even if the Triforce seemed to ignore his every cry for help?

There was another troubling thought. What did the shadow mean when it called Y/N half-breed?

Link felt the air slightly return to his lungs. He rocked back and forth like he had the day he held Y/N at Lake Hylia. Everything was so convoluted.

All Link knew was at his core; he missed Y/N. So much so, he wasn't sure if it was the pain from the stomping of the shadow or the pain from her absence that stole his breath away.

What must she think in this silence? I will continue to fight for us. Even if Hylia has abandoned me.

Even if the Triforce has abandoned me.

Even if... the Master Sword abandons me.

Renado returned with a pen and paper, setting it next to Link.

"Renado, I will tell you all I know. But you must swear to keep everything to yourself. I must ask another favor of you. Can you deliver the dress to Telma along with this letter I'm writing?" Renado's eyes flickered at the mention of Telma. Link caught onto his silent apprehension.

"I will give you anything, Renado. Please. I will repay you tenfold. I'm begging you. Give this to her." Link choked out "her" in resentment. He couldn't even say Y/N's name out of fear that it would provoke the shadow to go after her.

Renado didn't understand what was going on, but the awry environment was enough to make him compliant with Link's request. "Do you wish to see the dress before I go?"

Link felt a sob get caught in the weak cavity of his chest. "I wish to see her in the dress." He whispered morosely. Link handed Renado the letter he wrote for Y/N.

Renado gave Link a pained expression as he accepted the letter. "Are you sure you don't need anything?"

I need to get rid of that damned shadow. Link shook his head. "Thank you, Renado."

Renado made his way out of Link's room. Before departing, he left Link with one message.

"Well, we have come full circle, friend. Only your letter won't be received with rejection."

Link wasn't so sure.

Edited: 6/2/24

Things have indeed come full circle. Has everything up until this point even been Ilia's fault? Or was it the dark entity that has found residence in the home of her body?

With Link in a weaker state than his hero days, can he defeat the evil within Ilia and protect his best friend, princess, and true love?

Or has Hylia decided his days as designated hero are over?

Check out my other completed OOT Zelda work- No Woman Beyond

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blueflyingturtleontheway · 2 months ago

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Til sunrise

Word count: 847

Fandom: Lolirock

Characters: Talia, Amaru

Other: Pre-Canon, continuation of episode 6 - Xeris, angst, abandonment, optimistic ending

Created for the first prompts of @whumptober and #lolirocktober (prompts here and here)

She never realised just how cold the castle walls were, but now, hidden by a broken passage, she could feel the chill seeping in through her thin dress. She was still trembling, even when she ran out of tears to cry.

She watched her own reflection in the dark crystal until it got too dark to see anymore, and then she just stared into the blank night. She didn't remember the nights ever being this dark. Was it another spell of Gramorr's? If he could cover the ground with dark crystals, maybe he did something to the sky too? Or it was simply the smoke.

She coughed with another breath and the sound echoed through the empty rooms- ruins. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand. She listened. Her body was tense and she repeated Crystal Collidum in her mind, to execute it perfectly if she had to protect herself. She regretted not remembering any more spells.

Finally after minutes or hours she let her guard down. It was slowly getting brighter and she was now sure that there wasn't anyone but her around. At least not a living soul.

She closed her eyes when she caught a glimpse of another translucent figure with the corner of her eye. She was cold, she was lonely and she was scared. But the darkness under her eyelids was more pleasant than the darkness around her and she finally admitted to herself that above all, she was tired.

She shot up after what felt like mere seconds. Her heart was racing and her eyes darted around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Why was she sleeping on the ground...?

As soon as her gaze fell on the dark crystal before her, the horrors of last night came back to her. She felt a new wave of tears flood her eyes and she hid her face in her knees to at least not have to look at herself as she cried. It would only remind her that there's nobody here to comfort her.

Suddenly, through her own sobs she heard something that filled her both with hope and fear. It was a voice.

"Over there! Can you hear it too?" It was coming from above, from where the main hall used to be.

"The little guy seems to, at least. You really think someone would be here so soon after the attack?" There were more of them.

She pushed herself into the corner and tried to hold her breath but then she felt like suffocating, which would only make her breath more loudly, which would definitely make them hear her, and suddenly she was barely able to breath at all.

The sound of many footsteps was getting closer and she could now distinguish the sound of soft paws on stone among them.

Did Gramorr come back to get her too? Was it Banes?

She squeezed her sister's amulet in one hand and extended the other, trying to calm down enough to summon her magic circle.

"Everyone be ready. It's probably just a looter but..."

But how was she supposed to be calm? Her heart was louder than the patter of the approaching paws.

Her circle flickered and went out and so did her hope. Was he going to eat her? Did Banes eat princesses? Did he eat Izira too?

She clutched the amulet with both hands and squeezed her eyes shut, repeating in her mind all the prayers to the good stars for someone - for her sister - to come save her.

But she didn't feel sharp teeth bite into her flesh, or vicious claws tear her apart. Instead, something soft rubbed over her leg.

She risked opening her eyes.

A pair of big green eyes looked back at her.

She's never actually seen Banes, but she knew it couldn't be him. Banes was giant, could breath fire and was very, very evil. And this little puff of white and purple fur couldn't be evil in the slightest.

It put its paws on her knees and moved closer to sniff her. Its wet nose touched hers and it sneezed, knocking itself over in the process. Talia giggled.

"So who do we have here, little guy?" A pair of boots came into her view and a man bent down into her hiding spot. "Oh. Hello there."

Talia recoiled and her hands went back to the amulet.

The man instinctively reached for her but then stopped and instead put his hands up so she could see that he was unarmed. He knelt down far enough for her not to feel cornered but - as she realised when she was finally brave enough to look at him again - still close enough to obscure the horrible dark crystal.

"Hey, it's alright, we're not here to hurt you." He smiled gently. "You're safe now, the rescue mission is here."

The purple puff climbed back into her lap and Talia finally allowed herself to pet it. It was soft and she was starting to believe that perhaps the man was actually telling the truth.

#whumptober2024 #no.1 #search party #blue's writing #lolirock #lolirock talia #talia princess of xeris #amaru #amaru lolirock #lolirocktober #whumptober #every now and then i remember that talia came back to see her childhood home destroyed and her family gone #after what was supposed to be her last carefree night #and then continued to blame herself for it for the following 10 years #and i go a little insane #also writing this i remembered that she can see the dead so uh #it mustve been especially fucked up for her to sit there right after a ton of people were killed there :)#also her parents are never mentioned again after this one instance where she calls for them after coming back to the palace #while izira was seen as the strongest protector #which would imply that for some reason they werent able to fight and protect their daughters :)#and talia never speaks of saving her parents only her sister #i wonder if they were killed and she saw their ghosts while sitting among the ruins of her home :)#why is this show so messed up #whumptober 2024

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vishnavishivaa · 3 months ago

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VaasudevaVasudaa Chapter 1: A Deciding Wish

This book will have only three main POVs: Krishna, Rukmini and Satyabhama. This story is a retelling of Their story, without distorting the main events of Harivamsa and Mahabharata.

********

She had awakened before the Sun rose.

Now wrapped in Her comfortable green saree, Satyabhama sat on the cool balcony floor, gazing at the East, waiting for the Sun to rise, a kundala next to Her. She was waiting to do Surya Puja, and had been up earlier than usual, though Her habit was to arise before the Sun dawned completely.

In fact, Satyabhama rarely slept for a long time, which had been the case since She was a seven year old girl, and had decided that She had to gain Knowledge of anything and everything that existed, triggering Her journey into the sacred scriptures of Sanatana Dharma, each of which, along with various other skills, were taught to Her by Guru Garga and his disciples, all of whom resided in Mathura.

The restlessness of Nature was ever present in the pores of Her body, Satyabhama knew, as She stood up, swaying with the pre-dawn wind, which caressed Her gently, curly strands of hair gently escaping the loose plait that ran down Her back, settling to frame Her face, as if leaves that protected the blooming flower. She did not move the position of the stray curls, rather, letting them take their own course, more interested in the start of sounds, the awakening of animals coming together with the slow rise of the Sun.

The large ball of fire never rose at once, rather choosing to first cast its rays into the dark Sky before slowly rising, indicating that Purusha followed Prakriti, for the Sun’s rays were often likened to Harini, Hari the Sun Himself.

Smiling gently, She grabbed the kundala She had placed on the floor, now standing almost on Her tiptoes, bouncing in happiness as the Sun rose.

Closing Her eyes and pouring the water in the small golden vessel, She started Her prayers, easily flowing through Her usual prayers of welcome and greeting, the Aditya Hrudhayam included in Her prayers, a feeling of familiarity washing over Her, though Her heart was focused on the wish that She was going to request of the Yadava Sabha that day.

It was a big and important day, and She knew that only with the Universal God by Her side would She achieve Her goal.

***

“Sakhi Satyabhama, do you have to proceed with this plan?” asked Madhavi, gently folding the pallu of Satyabhama’s saree, as Satyabhama adjusted the brooch that Her mother had given, which was a elegant peacock pin at the junction of Her neck and shoulder, ensuring the cloth was tightly wrapped around Her, refusing to let anyone outside Her close circle see Her in anything but the neatest dressed form of Herself.

“I do, Madhavi,” Satyabhama smiled at Her friend, both grateful and reassuring, understanding the worry of Her friend. She knew well that if Satyabhama continued with the plan, Her existence will be known in a broader way throughout Aryavarta, which might cause more complications than Satyabhama frankly needed, owing to Her continuous wish to learn more, as well as very sharp intellect, which could easily see everything in a piercing way that was rarely seen amidst the Yadavas. Satyabhama continued, “From what I have heard of Devakinandan, He is very very appreciative of women and their wishes, as well as accepts them with sincerity. Taara Bhagini, who is His sister, says so, as does Sushila, who has been in love with Him since She has seen Him. And you know how much I trust both, given that They never embellish anything They tell me, come what may. That, put together with the opinion of every Yadava, including Pitashree and Jyeshta Bhrata, as well as a very powerful feeling of trust that is shooting through my heart, I believe that Vaasudeva Krishna will listen to my plea, and mostly accept my wish.”

“It is true that He does have a particularly unbiased opinion, and has been hailed by every single Yadava. But..”

“Madhavi, I can understand your worry,” Satyabhama reached out to pat Her close friend’s hand, gently holding as well, giving Madhavi strength. “But I am confident. Additionally, Pitashree and Bhrata agreed to my wish as well, and will be helping in this process.”

“But what about the chieftains of the Kula, Satyaa?”

“They are Yadavas, are they not, Madhavi?”

Satyabhama did not want to believe that Her elders would protest this wish of Hers, though it did sound much more practical than Her confidence that She would get to do as She had hoped. However, She also felt that the Yadava Kula is very understanding of the equal power of the Feminine as compared to the Masculine, which is why they believed that women deserved the same opportunities as men. Of course, Kamsa was not of the same thought, for he treated women horribly, even if he gave his now widows a lot of freedom.

Which could also be due to who their father was, Satyabhama mused, Her face darkening. She sighed when Madhavi looked at Her in worry, smiling small to reassure Her.

“Just thinking about the reason this has to be done, Madhavi. Indirectly, at least.”

“But Sakhi,” Madhavi said. “We all worry that your future will get complicated if the truth of your skills comes out.”

“My skills are not hidden among the Yadavas, Sakhi,” Satraajiti replied. “They may not be discussed, but they are well known. Pitashree personally has informed the King about it, and the King has also graciously accepted them. There is no need to fret.”

“But do the others know every detail?”

“Even I do not know the entire details yet, Madhavi,” Satyabhama said, sitting down on the settee, patting the seat next to Her for Madhavi, who gingerly sat down, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity. Smiling, the daughter of Satrajit continued, feeling Her face expand as She spoke.

“My powers could be because I was not born of the womb,” Satyabhama said softly, looking at Madhavi. “I was found in a Lotus, a thousand petalled one, no less, by Pitashree. One found in the Yamuna, floating like it was meant to be there.”

“A thousand petalled Lotus is said to be present only for the most special of people, Sakhi,” Madhavi said after some moments of silence, as she now seemed to try and read Satyabhama’s every pore, something that had not been possible to anyone who was not Taara or Sushila before.

“To me, it is Hari’s blessing that I am how I am,” Satyabhama whispered, standing up and tucking Her dagger into Her waistband, shaking Her head mildly at Her friend’s partially disapproving look.

“What if..”

“I will manage, Sakhi,” Satyabhama said firmly, a confidence boost that held the power of the Universe entering Her. She could feel Her entire form being enveloped by a glow, a glow that She felt indicated the peak of the Divine Feminine. With a soft smile and half hug at Her childhood friend, Satyabhama walked out of the chambers, confident in stride, like a lioness and protectress, Her only aim being to reach Her father’s court, ready to go to the Yadava Sabha with him.

******

“Are you sure, little sister?”

Satyabhama huffed playfully, looking at Bhangakkara, whose face held both protectiveness and resignation. She giggled, especially seeing the latter emotion, knowing that he had already known that She would continue with Her plan, something She had come up with during a spontaneous discussion, everything ironed out in less than half a prahara.

“I am Bhrata,” She smiled gently, patting his arm, their father smiling affectionately at the banter. She continued softly, “Madhavi addressed her worries as well. She believes my life might get complicated after this.”

“I know you can manage it, my child,” Satraajita said. “But I want you to be sure to proceed, Satyae.”

Satyabhama looked at Her father, smiling at the nickname.

Satyae.

Truth.

“I am, Pita,” She smiled, feeling happiness fill Her. She gently took his mildly weathered hand in hers, squeezing it with utter love, giving him a boost of confidence, which reflected on his face.

“If there is something I am proud of, that we are proud of, it is that you are part of our family,” Satraajita said, gladly holding on to Satyabhama’s hand. “That is why we are all very protective of you.”

“That, and my powers as well, which only seem to expand,” She divined, a small smile gracing Her face to show Her father that She was in no way offended.

“Satyaa,” Bhangakkara started, looking sheepish when She shot a sweet smile at him. He picked up his words, saying, “We know you are capable of taking care of yourself. But you are the eldest jewel of this family, and it is due to Your coming that we were blessed with the births of Vratini and Praspavini.”

Satyabhama smiled again, this time a soft, delicate thing, which brought out the inner elegance of Her very self. She could feel the Sun’s rays flitting through the curtains, gently touching the tip of Her hair, lighting it brightly, the smile that was already present on Her face widening. She lightly touched the tip and turned to Her brother.

“Bhrata, I understand your protectiveness. But it has to be me, does it not? The Yadavas can easily hold their own against Jarasandha, and I have no doubt that the two sons of YaduShiromani Vasudeva can easily fight and win against the King of Magadha’s armies, as they easily have done these past fourteen times. But would it not help the Yadavas if there are more warriors?”

“You are a fourteen year old, Satyaa.”

“How does that make a difference if I have the skill to fight, Bhrata?” She persisted, nodding back when he nodded in acceptance at Her words.

“Satyaa, I agree that you will be one of the biggest assets on our side, which is why I agreed to your proposal without much argument,” to which Satyabhama smiled acceptingly, remembering Her brother’s quickly accepting nature, when he let Her make Her own choices, though he did make valid points, which She had thought of before making Her plan.

“I am just overprotective,” Bhangakkara said. “Mainly because you are well known by name and nature through ear rather than actual sight. While the Yadavas know that you are indeed Satraajiti, your training has not made it easy for anyone to see you. Vratini and Praspavini, on the other hand, do know and are known by the Yadavas by sight as well. They have even met Vaasudeva Krishna.”

Krishna.

Satyabhama had to stop Herself from involuntarily shivering, His name sending a thrill that She had never experienced before through Her body. Every time She heard His name, She felt as if Her own Soul sang a song of emotions to Him, a song that She seemed to know from the get go, and yet a song Her conscious did not seem to understand. She had never met Him officially.

She had seen Him before He broke the Shiva Dhanusha, and had later, once…

She forced Her thoughts down, before She could go down that memory, which would make Her blush, redder than a hibiscus at its healthiest.

“And they do like Him,” She responded instead, patting Her father’s palm, which were clenched in worry for his girls. She looked at Satrajita, and softly said, “Pita, they are still young. Do not worry so much.”

“But they are my girls, like you are, Satyae.”

“While that is true, even you have told me multiple times of the pure goodness that comes from Devakinandan. So why are you worried? I doubt that He would hurt them in any way, whether He reciprocates their sweet affection or not.”

Satyabhama did not say more on the matter, not wanting Her father to get even more protective. She knew well, from the lyrical waxing of Krishna’s miracles from Her sisters, that They were well in the journey of loving Him, the man called the Enchanter.

Do not go into that thought process, Satyabhama, She chided Herself mentally, forcing down the memory that came to Her fore once more, not wanting to think of it just yet.

Which was ironic, considering She was going to meet Him once more, this time officially, in front of the entire Yadava Sabha.

“You are right, as always, Satyae,” Satrajita said, moving forward. “Come, my children. It is time for us to head to the royal palace.”

*******

There is a ton of symbolism in this series, which will have indications of why it is so.

@ahamasmiyodhah @mahi-wayy @yehsahihai @theramblergal @krsnaradhika @ramayantika @achyutapriya @thegleamingmoon @nidhi-writes @houseofbreadpakoda @hum-suffer @kanhapriya @kaal-naagin @krishna-priyatama @willkatfanfromasia @celestesinsight @arachneofthoughts @idllyastuff The first chapter is a bit late, but it is up! Do let me know what you all think!

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chromiumagellanic06 · 8 months ago

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The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 10: A Wedding

MASTERLIST

Summary: A wedding. A joust. Some simping.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: nothing, really

The Sept. Sept – Hept – Seven, referring to the Seven New Gods that prevailed over the Faith. It was filled with people, nobles, high merchants, children old enough to not disrupt the proceedings, and guards. There were a lot of guards.

Princess Naera Targaryen stood behind a mostly closed door in the most prominent Sept in King’s Landing, running her fingers over a clear red ruby within an iron crest that dangled from her neck, as she pondered the customs. It was the door behind the Crone and the Stranger, though she did not know the reason. The Crone symbolised time—the future, perhaps? The Stranger held little significance to her.

Her father stood beside her, looking the best at his health than he had in a very long time. His maesters had outdone themselves, it seemed.

The High Septon’s quiet, drawling voice echoed through the Sept within, reading some prayers and extracts from the Seven-Pointed Star. It did not help that it was the same book which had been cited to Princess Alysanne before she married her brother who later came to be known as King Jaehaerys the Reconciler—there were none more deterred by their ways than those who held Faith in the Seven Gods. Naera did not understand why her family agreed with the commoners and their beliefs in this regard, when the commoners so rarely hid their dismay over the marriage of brother to sister as done in he Targaryen family.

House Targaryen had been fueled to stray above the petty crowds, as it was obvious in the height of the Iron Throne above those who stood on the grounds, as it was obvious in the soaring might of the dragon riders above the main populace. They were above them—as they had been, for a hundred years, and a thousand years before that also.

She stared through the inch-thin parting of the doors before her. She could see solemn light, and crowds, and the High Septon leaned over his book between the statues of the Mother and the Father. A stair below and to the right stood Daemon, dressed in black, arms clasped calmly as he struggled through the prayers—struggled, yes, for she knew him better than to think he felt no irritation or ire. She recognised faces by the statues—Aegon, by his height, Helaena, by the dress, Rhaenyra and Laenor, and her two older sons, and Aemond by the black spot of his eye-patch—she almost pitied the boy, were it not for his crime—and a woman in Green, extravagantly dressed, with a gleaming golden Seven-Pointed Star at her neck. Queen Alicent. Yes. That is why the dragon dared heed the wishes of the sheep. Her weak father was the reason.

Naera made an effort to not frown but pulled her arm away from her father. Not for long. Yes. House Hightower of Oldtown shall soon fall. She shall ensure it. The Greens shall forever be defeated, as Aegon’s enemies had been. The dragon does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep, and it was time they returned to a reign ruled with Fire and Blood, and not compromise and faltering diplomacy.

Naera ran her fingers along the edge of the cloak on her back—ash black, as the remnants of a most disastrous fire, with a blood-red dragon—a dragon has three heads—inscribed in a circle. Fire and Blood, but perhaps she just needed to rediscover her fire—perhaps the man, her uncle, her blood who she had never really known, who stood irate, about to wed her would help her. Perhaps, he’d warm and rekindle her lost flames with his own fire.

Before she guts him, of course. Although, perhaps the pyre of his funeral shall burn her with a delight so strong, a kind of joy which would burn through her blood for all her life. Perhaps.

The doors were heaved open by priests from within, and Naera gave her father her arm. The crowds hushed silence as the King walked in his daughter, his Visenya Returned, down the aisle to where the High Septon stood. Every step felt numbing on her feet, a strange anticipation boiling in her throat—the urge to destroy, surely, but she did not like the sensation. It felt like she had seconds before she had been enslaved for the first time, with no hopes for escape, the way she had felt every second in Stygai before the world came crashing down, the way she had felt when Raiden had first taken to illness. Nothing good came of this feeling.

Naera did not look down; she did not dare blemish the rites and her family. No, she wore the Targaryen cloak with pride, despite the implication, despite the sighs of contempt and aversion at her blood. It had not been her choice, she thought. This was the crown’s disdain to bear and it was an insult to the King to ignore.

Naera looked up to the blinding morning sun that gleamed through the windows, and her own regal lilac eyes caught those of nourishing soil brown. Elysabeth Tyrell stood in a gown of gold and pink, as the rose she was, a teasing look stuck on her beautiful face as she stood closer to the Septon than the rest, ready to receive her cloak.

Her father grasped her arm a little tighter as they ascended the stairs to the Septon—to Daemon, who stared down at his struggling brother with a shielded stare of pity, and then looked upon his Valyrian bride, and smiled. Viserys settled to the side, standing on the left, behind his dear daughter, besides the Queen, and their children.

Naera ascended the final stair alone, her footsteps echoing in the silence, and she stood before her smiling uncle—smiling, still, at her decorated face, her silver hair, and at her silver gown, her black cloak, and he refused to stare between her breasts where the red ruby dangled. He would not let himself be reminded of that ordeal, tubis daor—not today.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” and Naera turned with mincing steps to face the statues behind her. She felt Daemon lift up her cloak and saw Lady Tyrell accept it with glee, and he spread another fabric—near perfectly identical—across her shoulders, and yet it felt heavier than her maiden’s cloak, as though a symbol of the weight that came with the ties of marriage. It crushed her from within, and without. Naera turned once the cloak was secure, trying her best to keep herself from frowning.

Suffer through this night, and relish in what comes after.

“My lords, my ladies,” the Septon drawled on, “we stand here, in the sight of gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife,” and Naera thoroughly frowned at his words. Man and wife—not husband and wife, then it should be man and woman. To denote a woman by her man is the simplest form of enslavement. “One flesh, one heard, one soul, now and forever.” No. It would not be forever, Naera knew. Nothing is forever.

She turned to face the Septon, as did Daemon. She held out her hand, and he covered it with his own, as the Septon wound a white ribbon round their joint hands, once, twice, thrice, until he approached seven loops. The Septon spoke as he wound the ribbon around their hands, “Let it be known that Naera of the House Targaryen and Daemon of the House Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” His hand over hers felt warm, comforting, caring.

“Look upon each other, and say the words,” and Naera turned to Daemon, their hands still held.

They spoke the names of the New Gods of the South, in unison, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” and never breaking their flow and rhythm, never cracking their unison, Daemon spoke, “I am hers, and she is mine.”

Naera spoke in a voice quieter than Daemon’s, but heard nonetheless, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” he finished.

“From this day, until the end of his days,” and the threat in Naera’s voice went unnoticed by all—by the Septon, by Elysabeth Tyrell, by her father, and her step-mother, and their children, and Rhaenyra and her family. It went unnoticed by every man and woman in the Sept, other than Daemon.

He tightened his grasp on her hand, smiling fake yet again, but she knew the joy of finally attaining his Valyrian Bride outweighed the possibility of losing her by the worth of a thousand lives. Soon enough, his eyes twinkled with the spark he must hold for a lady wife he has wanted for very long, and he still refused to glance at the ruby and all it represented.

“With this kiss,” and his voice adopted a dulcet tone she had never heard in it before, “I pledge my love.” And the destruction of House Hightower, was that which he did not voice. They knew—oh, they knew the promise very well. Naera couldn’t resist a smile, oh, to watch the perfect Alicent cower and weep to her false gods after all she holds dear is gone, and Naera yearned for the kiss that would promise it all. Daemon leaned forward, tilting his face to the side, the heat that radiated off his face, his eyes, his hands adding up to be too much, and pressed his warm lips against hers for a moment only—a moment of fire and storm that sent a chill down her spine, before pulling away. Yes.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” In perpetuity. Naera blinked, as the High Septon unwrapped the white ribbon. Daemon’s eyes smiled down at her, as did his lips, but Naera heard, in the euphonious voice of the woman from her dreams, or do I have my facts wrong?

I wasn’t there, your grace, a deeper, lower voice answered, quieter, smaller, inferior.

No, of course not, the voice of the Conqueror, the Targaryen Princess, the Breaker of Chains echoed in Naera’s mind, but still, an oath, is an oath, and an ounce of guilt ran down Naera, and in perpetuity means…what does in perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?

Forever, surely, Lord Tyrion, whoever he was, spoke.

Forever, and the voices faded away. Naera blinked. No. This was a sham wedding—it was not binding, it was not a promise—valar morghulis, all men must die, and she held no obligation to them all. Didn’t she?

“Are you alright?” Daemon asked her frozen face, concern colouring his joys.

No. No, no, no.

“Of course.”

There was always a portion of theatrics that came with tourneys. The cheers of the spectators, the clink and clutter of gamblers handing their silver and gold to barterers, the whispers amongst high nobility all boldened the knights. The thrumming of drums in a rhythmic setting boiled anticipation. To feel the heave and weight of one’s armour, to hear the hammering of one’s horse’s hooves against the mulch-ridden ground, and to stare into the eyes of your opponent, all those feet away, through the cages of one’s helm, was brilliance.

Daemon rode out on his horse—midnight dark, to match his obsidian armour. He heard the crowds and their cries and their praises, and it cemented a sort of pride he couldn’t source elsewhere. There were a series of knights lined up, bearing the emblems of houses on their chests, their horses lined up in a row—He always chose first. A man dressed in red and black announced his ordeal, as he rode past each and every mounted knight to find one worthy.

The first he faced was Jason Lannister, with his silken cape of red and gold and a lion that roared within. Dragons didn’t duel with Lions—no. The next was a Stark, and a Bolton, and Daemon had no desire to fight a man who stood no chance—no. Baratheon, Hightower, but he had already injured them before, so no. He passed by the Tyrell rose who dared have his beauty tainted, but oh, Targaryen.

With her wedding gown still in place beneath gleaming silver armour, and it made sense why she had chosen one with wide ankles—his lady wife, his beloved niece, his Naera had been serious about the tourney. The cloak he had settled on her shoulders just hours ago now acted as a cape, though hidden behind a sheer white cape that glowed in the sun, and when Daemon passed his horse by her, he saw a lilac eye wink through the bars of her helm. Well, he decided, as he turned his horse and lowered his lace to her shoulder.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, has chosen his opponent…” and the man was certainly confused beyond words, but he found them nonetheless, “It is…Princess Naera Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and, uh, the Silver Knight!” The crowds roared aloud, about to witness a match that wouldn’t be seen for another two hundred years at the least.

The man backed away thus, as Daemon approached the King’s bracket, his black stallion clucking its way to the front. “I request the favour of the Heir to the Iron Throne—Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” and if his old love did resent him for caving up thoughts and memories she had buried away, she did not show it.

“Good fortune to you, uncle,” she announced with a diplomatic smile and threaded a wreath of green leaves and yellow blossoms through his lance. He heard claps and excitement of those who watched, and wondered if he should be gentle—what would they think of him, if he disarmed his lady wife. Surely, that he was cruel and merciless, Maegor Returned, as she was Visenya—nothing they did not already believe.

Naera’s grey horse approached the bracket also, as Daemon took his place by one edge of the track. He saw the irritation on her face as she flicked off the visor of her helm, for he had known without a doubt that his niece would have asked the favour of her own sister.

“I ask for the favour of his grace, King Viserys,” and the crowds took a minute to register her request before they cried out in approval—this was hardly a conventional match, of course. “Shall I have your blessing, father?” Naera used her words to coax her laughing, joying, priding father off his chair. He fetched a wreath of gold and twine and dropped it through her iron lance.

“I wish you victory, Silver Knight—my Visenya Returned,” said the King, after which, he returned to his seat, and the happiness was evident on his ageing features. Naera let her horse neigh and directed it to turn and take its place on the opposite end of the track. The drums were beaten with vigour, with a rhythm long imbued into Daemon’s mind from all the tourneys he had won, and as the beats came to a still stop, he reined his horse to stagger and run forth, aiming his spear at an angle meant to disarm—to not hurt his lady wife at all.

Naera, at the other end, rode faster than he did, for she understood that the strength she did not possess would come with the speed her lord husband could not gain, and angled her spear further out into his space—to harm, and not just disarm.

Her armour caught the glow of the noon day’s sun, but her momentum made it all blur into a streak of silver, and as the cape of red and grey-black that hung off her back caught wind in the air, they clashed spears with a brassy, deafening blast of metal and wood.

Daemon’s spear cluttered against her wooden shield, splintering the wood and streaking the symbol of the dragon. Naera’s spear caved in a metal place near his shoulder, throwing him off his balance, and she turned, as her grey stallion blared past, to watch her uncle’s midnight dark horse cry out and run, throwing him off its back and down to the muddy, mulchy ground.

His arm collided against the fence pole, sending a crackle of pain through his shoulder.

There were at least a thousand men and women—and as the Rogue Prince was demounted by his new lady wife, every single man, woman, and child shored up a riotous, thundering uproar. Daemon pushed his way to his feet, gasping and groaning.

Oh. She was not bluffing, it seemed.

Naera turned her stallion, and shouted, “Get him a sword!” Happy.

A squire approached Daemon, holding out the sheathed Black Sister. Oh, he had been wrong—how terribly wrong. He watched Naera dismount her horse, tugging off the heaviest of her armour around her shoulders and arms, and dropping it to the ground, but leaving the breastplate in place. He watched her remove her jousting helm, letting her silver hair fall across her shoulders.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister with a shrill sound, throwing away his helm, making his way towards Naera as the man from earlier announced their intentions. Naera held a thin blade, not very strong or sturdy, but he did not know what to expect.

“First blood,” he named his terms, and she hummed her approval above the noise of the people.

“Very well,” but neither of them failed to notice the panic in the King’s eyes as he leaned against the veranda, face contorted in worry. Eh.

Naera held her blade in her high hand, extending it straight, as though it was a part of her arm. Daemon lunged at her, his sword aimed straight, and she leaned away, stepping back, not daring to try her hand at a straight clash. No, Naera instead leaned away, stepped back, whipping her grey gown against the wet mud, and swiped her sword against dark sister as it heaved down, and again, and again—three quiet hits and her sword pointed at Daemon’s face. Ah.

He drew a long breath, whipping around and slashing at her, but Naera—his Naera, leaned away, again, and again, and she managed to catch him off guard with a drastic flip of her hair, and pushed down her leg against his chest. Daemon slipped against the mulch, colliding against the ground yet again, and Naera pointed the thin, flimsy blade at him, at his neck, and the fear of the nights before returned.

A man has lost to a girl, he almost heard her say, but with the fear turning to singed panic, and the panic being the fire that fueled his blood, he kicked her down onto the mud, staggering to his feet, and Naera had already twirled back to her feet—agile, elegant, quick. He watched the silk and silver of her gown tear and screech at the hems, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered—not when her eyes were smiling unlike he had ever seen them do.

Naera clashed her sword against his armour, against his Valyrian Steel Blade, and it clattered off into two pieces. She hissed at the loss, taking a large step backwards, and lunged at Daemon with the broken blade, aiming at his neck. Daemon pulled the blade out of her hands, throwing it somewhere near the shouting man who informed the people of their deeds.

Daemon heard the pitched sliding of metal against metal, as Naera unsheathed the dagger he had once gifted her. Oh, she was being sentimental, in a way.

He gasped a laugh, clutching Dark Sister as hard as he could, and he slashed at her again, and she knelt down to avoid it, piecing her second blade through the joint plates of his obsidian armour. Daemon groaned out in pain, and Naera was again throwing him down with her weight, her Valyrian Steel dagger striking across his cheek in a blur of grey and silver.

Daemon faced the skies, and he watched Naera raise her dagger, coated in his blood, smiling, happy, almost ecstatic, he’d even dare word. He felt warm blood pour down his face, and the sting of a wound well cut spreading through his mind.

Every woman in the crowd—Rhaenyra and Elysabeth in particular, screamed out their joys at her victory, but the face of King Viserys, clapping at his daughter’s victory shone through the rest.

“Well, husband?” Naera held out a hand, silver hair settled down on her shoulders, as she replaced the blade by her waist. Her lilac eyes gleamed brighter than her hair, and her breastplate shone with the light of the sun. The lines on her face had settled, a suppressed smile eating away at her face, Silver Knight. Daemon accepted her hand, unable to fight a smile. He had never enjoyed losing—who did?

He did not leave her hand once he stood but instead raised it above their heads, despite the ache in his leg and on his face. He left her arm hanging high, and wrapped both his arms around her waist, and raised her up higher. The shadow of the tracks escaped her, and the tilted sun illuminated her. The shimmer of her armour blinded him, but he looked on, at her blooming high-set cheeks, her rosy, smiling lips and her eyes—oh, her eyes, which he was sure were amethysts worth more gold than this world could own. She was perfect.

Naera laughed as she did, like a shower of crystal rain after a decade-long drought, like a wakening light in the darkest of hells, and like a little child after receiving praise or a maiden after receiving a flower from her long love. He couldn’t resist—did not wish to resist the grin that befell him.

He had lost.

He loved it.

MASTERLIST

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